


Nightly Ordeal

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Betaed, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two guys end up in a bed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightly Ordeal

**Author's Note:**

> First published on LJ on June 21st, 2005.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.
> 
> cerulean_eyes deserves mad props for doing such a lovely and speedy beta. She rocks in every sense of the word, yes. *smiles and blows kisses to Oz-land*

It's different, he thinks. Just that. Nothing more than this; it's just that Lukas is a guy. And you really can't compare blokes and girls. Of course it _has_ to be different with a man.

But he can't help the niggling doubts that it's not just this; that there's more to it. That there's a fucking whole shitload more to it than just the fact that there's a warm, very male body snuggled up behind him, an arm carelessly slung over his shoulders, sharing the warmth under the thin covers, as they went from sleeping apart to sleeping together in a rather narrow bed without any discussion; it just happened like this. Lukas takes care to mess up the other bed the next morning enough so that no one will notice anything out of the ordinary. At nights they always end up in one bed, inevitably, and somehow Bastian can't shake the disturbing feeling that it was just _too_ easy, too… simple, as if there wasn't anything more to it than this. Just an unspoken agreement that they're… yes, what?

"Stop worrying, Bastian, you need your sleep," he hears a sleepy grumble from behind him. Bastian sighs. Poldi is a great guy, but sometimes Bastian wishes he wouldn't know him too fucking well.

"Since when is my sleep your business?", he sighs, tracing the contours of the pillow unconsciously, feeling the fine thread catching in his fingerprints.

"Since you get all moody and grumbly on me when you haven't had enough," the quick retort comes. "So close your eyes and go to sleep, okay?"

Bastian nods wordlessly, closing his eyes. But to no avail; the thoughts are intent on messing with his mind, pricking him with needles, digging little barbs at him, picking with sharp beaks at him: are you gay, shirtlifter, poofter, you love taking it up the ass, all these insults he traded with other guys at school, at training camp, and, and…

The arm tightens around him, drawing him in close. "Bastian, _stop_ it, will you?", Lukas mumbles against his neck, his breath spreading goosebumps on Bastian's skin. His body is now aligned against Bastian's back, not an hairsbreadth of space between them, and Bastian _knows_ every contour of the Pole's body, seeing it in front of his tightly closed eyes, highlighted by his touch and feel and taste, the spicy musk of Lukas' groin, the soft downy hairs on the inside of his thighs, the leathery soles of his feet, the sharpclean taste of his sweat, the hard planes of his stomach, the brittle stickiness of his hair – Lukas sometimes steals Bastian's hair gel –, the faint whiff of the CK aftershave that Lukas uses and the steely light-blue of his eyes, darkening when he's aroused.

Suddenly Bastian can't bear it anymore and turns around, meeting Poldi's sleepysurprised eyes. Lukas' arm is still around him, now having slid down to his waist, and the image of what they must look like that flashes through his mind, both of them gloriously naked all the way - although you can see only their shoulders and their heads with the covers around them -, the foreheads almost touching, and the contour of Lukas' arm around Bastian's waist, very visible through the thin covers, and their legs entangled so that it's impossible to tell apart from the lumps which are which.

It's a picture that he feels uncomfortable and comfortable with, in an odd disjointed way.

"What's your problem, Bastian?", Lukas asks, and Bastian can hear the slight hesitation in his voice. He knows that he's breaking their routine, if you can actually call _this_ a routine, going to sleep immediately after sex, and that when doing so they'll not… cuddle, but try to make sleeping in a narrow bed more comfortable, and, well, more often than not they end up all over each other, and they never address nor mention it, because, well… it's just like that, and in the morning and during the course of the day they're just joking around, laughingtalkingteasing, behaving like two really good friends, enjoying this connection between them, this thing that helps them to concentrate on the other one effortlessly, making them click, just like that.

But now Bastian's about to change this, and he knows that Lukas knows, and it also is inevitable, somehow, this. Trying to talk about it, making sure that they're on the same page; but is that really what he wants? Bastian doesn't know – nothing at all, not even how he's supposed to go about it, which words to choose, damn fuck it, he's not a girl, girls get all communicative and in touch with their feelings, but he's a bloke, and…

"What the fucking hell is this?", he sighs, closing his eyes. He feels Lukas' arm carefully being lifted from his body, and the creaking of the bedsprings as his friend moves away from him is impossibly loud in his eyes, and then the slight breeze of cold air means that Lukas is sitting up, about to move back to his bed, and suddenly Bastian knows that this isn't what was supposed to happen, not at all, and, "stay."

"What?" He sees Lukas' graceful back, the head bowed, and the streetlights outside – they were too lazy to pull the curtains shut – lighten up his contours a bit, fine hairs gleaming on his body, and Bastian swallows, his throat impossibly dry, knowing that this is what counts, that he has to go forward bravely.

"Just stay, Lukas," he says, quietly, hoping that the underlying nervousness won't belie him, that Lukas won't see how fucking scared he is – and Lukas moves back into his place, squirming slightly until he lies on his back next to Bastian. There's a lot of space between them that wasn't there before, and something in Bastian longs desperately for Lukas' easy warmth.

"I just…," and Lukas is still _not_ looking at him, staring into space instead, and Bastian sighs again, "…I mean, what are we doing here?"

He feels Lukas shrugging, "Why? Don't you like it?" _Like_ it? He never has heard a more stupid question and he says so, too.

"Then just _what_ is your problem, Bastian?", Lukas asks, and there are still faint traces of sleepiness in his voice. But it's now or never, it's make it or break it time, and, well.

"Are we gay?"

Apparently he now has managed to put a stop to Lukas' questions. Hooray. Something to celebrate. Bring out the champagne – nah, Poldi doesn't drink. And he prefers a good cool Erdinger himself, anyway.

Lukas still hasn't said anything and the words hang between them, gaining weight until Bastian can't bear it anymore and raises himself up on his elbow, facing Lukas.

"I asked you something!" And he didn't sound totally desperate there, no. Neither pissed off. He's the fucking epitome of coolness.

"Well, I haven't got a bloody answer," Lukas snaps back, glaring at him and something inside of Bastian recoils at the anger contained in the glare. It is as if he had opened a glass to search for a little truth and instead there's a mass of blackglisteningsquirming worms on his hand, repulsive and too much to deal with and he doesn't know what to do; he's at a forced impasse.

Lukas sighs, closing his eyes. He's suddenly looking very world-weary, faint invisible lines tracing his face, ageing him and that's when Bastian suddenly recognizes that Lukas has thought about this particular subject, too, and hasn't come up with something to soothe his troubled mind as well – and thus both of them are trapped in this mess. The whole fucking enchilada with no exit.

Finally, a quiet groan. "Fucked if I know, Bastian." Now Lukas is looking straight at him, the blue eyes piercing in the dim light. His left hand raises to touch Bastian's spiked hair, carding through the strands, and slowly goosebumps are spreading downwards Bastian's spine, the intensity of their locked stare veering on uncomfortable, but just _almost_. The silence deepens and still Lukas is stroking Bastian's hair, his fingers catching in the sticky spikes from time to time, brushing over the close-cropped side, taking his time.

All of a sudden, Bastian realizes that this is the first time they are acknowledging, in a way, their special bond, and it's as if words would never suffice to describe them properly, everything that is them, and so they don't say anything – but somehow, in an inexplicable way, the air between them is crackling, brimming with the weight of nonexistent words conveyed only through stares. It's making Bastian dizzy, all of this, and Lukas' electrifying strokebrushes don't help the matter in the least, and then he's lowering his head, slowly, drawn to Lukas like a magnet, and that's what they are, really, magnets, connected in a way that is obvious to everyone and yet there's something deeper at work that their visible connection is only scratching the surface of.

And when their lips meet, warmdrysoft, it's in a way that they never have kissed before, and yet it feels strangely right, like coming _home_, to the one place that you belong to, as clichéd as that sounds, and Lukas' hold on Bastian's hair tightens as if he had read Bastian's thoughts.

And then Bastian's hand has found Lukas' shoulder and the feel of the strongwarmpliant muscles under his palm only magnifies the degree of comfort. The kiss continues, slow, unhurried, and Bastian suddenly notices that he's wholly at ease with himself, a warm calmness unfurling all throughout his body and it could go on forever like this, the slow moving of lips against each other, langurously, their bodies touching easily, fitting into each other's curves and lines, aligning like they have been molded for each other.

But then he feels a sharp nip on his lower lip. "Hey!" But Lukas only smiles at him, that slow special smile that Bastian has always seen directed only at him, and says, "That answer your question?"

It does and yet doesn't, but now Bastian couldn't care less. He grins back.

"Yeah."

Because he is who he is, Bastian fucking Schweinsteiger aka Schweini, and if he can't get enough of his best buddy, that's no one's business but his own. And so he edges closer to Lukas and their lips meet again and it's fucking _perfect_.


End file.
